


Entwining Your Broken Parts With My Love

by waywarded



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, BDSM, Bondage, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel and Dean Winchester Use Their Words, Castiel praising Dean, Dean at least attempts aftercare, Dean binds Castiel's wings, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gentle Dom Dean Winchester, Gentle Sex, Light Angst, M/M, No Condoms, Porn with Feelings, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sub Castiel, Switching, Top Dean Winchester, Wings Shibari, angel proof rope, but safety is assumed because they are established, but usually Castiel Doms Dean, shut up that exists now, yep even though he subs in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 08:19:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17240762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywarded/pseuds/waywarded
Summary: Castiel hates his broken wings and a fading spell has rendered them in their corporeal form. Dean wants to show how beautiful they are to him and to help Cas feel better about them, even if just for a while.





	Entwining Your Broken Parts With My Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pherryt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/gifts).



> For pherryt. /Heavy Breathing nnnnggg, I hope you like this, and I swear I will write you another fic if you want me to, because SOMEHOW, me writing a kink fic became 2k of random angst before anyone is even naked. But there is sex, there is a gentle slightly insecure Dom Dean who is usually a sub, and there is a happy ending. And hopefully the kind of wings shibari you wanted. I had a good time writing this, despite my insecurity, and I hope you have a good time reading it /cuddles

The sight of his angel huddled on the chair, his trench coat around his shoulders as a hiding place, head hanging low, is enough to have Dean's heart break. For a long moment, he fails to say a word, trying to form his thoughts into something that could be at least the slightest bit _helpful_. And he knows Cas knows he's there, even when he's not turning his head to make eye-contact. Cas always knows.

 

“Cas...” He steps closer. Lifts his hand, lets it hover above Cas’s shoulder for a few seconds before resting his palm, gently, on top of the familiar fabric of the coat. He can feel the steady fall and rise of his breaths.

  


“Cas, you don’t need to hide them,” Dean says softly. “From me,” he adds, squeezing Castiel’s shoulder a little. “I get that you don’t want us to...” He gets that Cas feels vulnerable, with his wings manifested in their corporeal form, with his _broken_ wings there for anyone to see, unable to keep his wounded parts hidden. If anyone gets that, it’s him. “Just let me...?” He pauses. “Please.”

  


Castiel huffs a sigh. Lifts his head up, a little. “Why? Sam countered the spell. A few days, and I’ll be able to keep them out of sight. You don’t need to see me like this.”

  


Dean adds his remaining hand onto Cas’s other shoulder, dips his head to place a kiss on top of his head. “I don’t want you to _need_ to hide them from me. Cas, I don’t care if... I’m not gonna judge you, or...” He knows that it’s thick, coming from him, judging by how he handles his own moments of weakness. But just because he fails to let people help him... is no excuse to want his loved ones to be as stubborn.

  


Cas finally turns to look at him, brow knitted, a question in his eyes before his expression softens into something terrifyingly _weary_. “Dean, the reason I don’t want you to see my wings is same you wouldn’t want me to see it if you had your legs broken and deformed, scarred by an injury you can’t reverse. That changed you in ways...” He trails off, his eyes hard before he lowers them. “In a word – I would rather you never saw the parts of me I _hate_ the most.”

  


Dean studies him with his eyes, Castiel’s sadness reflecting from them. He has so much he wants to say – that nothing, _nothing_ , could ever make him see Cas as any less than he _is_ ; that there are no parts of him Dean could consider less than beautiful. “Let _me_ not hate them?” he asks, desperation in his tone. “Come on, please? Let me not hate your wings. I don’t care if they’re broken, Cas, I think your wings are beautiful.”

  


Sam and Jack had been around, too, when the spell had taken effect and forced Castiel’s wings into their corporeal form; even if the first chance he had gotten to hide them with his coat, he had swiftly taken it. But the glimpses Dean had seen...

  


“Hey,” he goes on, hands landing onto Castiel’s shoulders again, firmly, holding onto the fabric in a suggestion to slide the trench coat off his shoulders. “Cas, look at me.”

  


Slowly, he complies, the oceans of his eyes flicking up to face Dean’s.

  


“Your wings are _beautiful_ ,” he says, with determination. “I could never hate any part of you.”

  


Cas loosens his hold of the coat, slowly letting go of his tension. Dean waits until he isn’t holding onto the fabric at all, before taking it as a permission to slide it off his shoulders.

  


His chest is bare under the trench coat, but that isn’t where Dean focuses his attention on. He watches as the smooth feathers, partly fragmented and scattered along the structure of the wings get released from under the fabric. They rise slightly and move a few inches, as if wanting to be free and stand proudly instead of being folded against Castiel’s shoulder blades, but too shy, too hesitant to really do so. The feathers are ink black, a more intense version of a night sky – with specs and diamonds of turquoises and emeralds reflecting light faintly, like stars and galaxies scattered across a broken surface. Broken or not, the sight takes Dean’s breath away; he can’t comprehend how Castiel can _hate_ anything so beautiful. Some of the feathers are bent and torn, but there is absolutely nothing incomplete in them, in Dean’s eyes.

  


He reaches out his hands for Cas to take a hold of, pulls him up from the chair, to eye-level. Kisses his lips, gently, so lightly they barely meet.

  


“Do they hurt...?” Words whispered against his angel’s lips. And for a moment he’s worried; what if Cas has been in pain for all these years, never letting anyone know? But Cas shakes his head.

  


“No,” he replies, softly. “They don’t hurt. They’re just... there. Like scars.”

  


Dean pulls back enough to look at the feathers again. “Can I...?” He meets Cas’s eyes again, lifting a hand, his other one still holding Cas’s. “Can I touch them?”

  


Cas seems to hesitate for some time before he nods.

  


Dean hesitates, too. Eyes search Castiel’s for another second before observing the feathers closest to him again, his lips parted as he lays gentle, cautious fingers onto one, stroking. The texture is smooth rather than soft, not as fragile as it seems, but firm, safe to touch.

  


He startles as he feels Cas shiver, hand shooting away from the feathers in a rush, but when he sees the look on Castiel’s face, he relaxes. Cas’s eyes are cast down, only open a crack, his features free of any of the tension that was there a few seconds ago. He looks as if... as if Dean’s touch feels _good_.

  


“No one has ever touched them before,” Cas mumbles, as if in a response to Dean’s unworded question. “Not in this form. In their true form, back in Heaven, yes, but... it’s... I’ve never... This is... different.”

  


He looks so content, in this moment. Dean drinks in the sight, his hand returning to brush against the feathers, fascinated by the effect – he’s possibly never seen Castiel so relaxed – and taking the circumstances in consideration, his shame and disgust by the very part of him he’s now letting Dean touch freely being what gives him serenity like that... it’s very strange, and very beautiful.

  


“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Dean says quietly as he experiments with it, tracing his fingertips along the feathers, the joints, the bones, his left hand still holding Cas’s.

  


They are both losing themselves in the moment, Cas quiet aside from the shivers and the brief gasps of breath he inhales. Dean just gazing at the wing his fingers are adventuring on, shifting enough to be able to reach the tip hanging close to the floor, but to still keep holding onto Cas’s hand gently.

  


He isn’t sure where the impulse comes from, but as he straightens himself up again, he doesn’t stop to think – just presses his lips against a tip of a feather, fingers holding it in place. Cas’s grip of his hand tightens at that, and Dean presses his body closer, feeling the both of their heartbeats between their chests.

  


He trails a few more kisses, and Castiel’s free hand wraps around his waist, loosely holding him close for a moment before wandering up his back to guide him to meet his lips, pulling him by the back of his neck.

  


Dean doesn’t object as Cas captures his lower lip in between his, deepening the kiss. He lets go of his hand to wrap his arms around Cas, his touch trailing against where his wings meet his shoulder blades before resting at his hips.

  


They both breathe heavy as Dean breaks the kiss to draw in air.

  


He hesitates again – he wants more, but with the wings manifested, he isn’t sure how it’d work, if it’d work, if Castiel would even want it to. But an idea is brewing. They have consistently used sex as means to wind down, to process emotions, and though it’s usually Cas taking control to help Dean let go, to give him a break from the responsibility of being in charge, they have switched their roles before, and if he’ll be able to, Dean would love the chance to be there for Cas in similar ways his angel has been there for him when he’s needed him, countless times.

  


“Punch me in the face if this is an awful idea,” he breathes, opening his eyes to look at Cas’s. Waits for him to do the same. “But you’ve been stressed as hell ever since this,” he gestures towards his wings, “started, and... I could... if, if you think you’d like it. I could be in charge. For a change.”

  


He knows what it’s like to willingly give up all control to someone he absolutely trusts. He knows how _freeing_ it can feel like. And even if it’s usually Castiel having Dean falling on his knees with a single word and a raise of an eyebrow, they have reversed their roles at times, so it’s not a new idea, aside from the wings being present.

  


Neither of them looks away, as Dean waits for Cas to consider the suggestion.

  


The latter nods slowly, after a long moment. “You have something in mind.” It is not a question.

  


Dean briefly bites his lip, his gaze wandering towards Cas’s wings before returning to the ocean blue eyes. “You liked the angel proof rope the last time,” he says, hesitating, not wanting to go too far. “I know I’m not as intricate with ropes as you can be, but... I could try. I could... Maybe I could make you see what I see when I look at your wings. Make them beautiful, even in your eyes. Maybe it’s pointless, I don’t want to have you feel like I’m hiding them again if I fold them with bindings, I...”

  


“No, I...” Castiel replies, a slight frown flashing across his brow before disappearing as the corner of his lips tugs upwards, slightly. “I would like that.”

  


Dean studies him, with care. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I don’t wanna make this worse. We do this, you gotta promise to safeword out the second anything gets uncomfortable, OK? And I mean _the second_. That clear?” He wouldn’t forgive himself if he managed to add to his angel’s misery. Not with his wings. Not with this.

  


“I promise.” There’s enough confidence in his tone that Dean believes him. And Cas maybe understands the need to be absolutely honest about this better than Dean feared he would, having usually been on the dominant side of these dynamics.

  


“Good,” he replies, releasing the tension he didn’t notice he had been building on his shoulders. Trails a few kisses along Cas’s cheekbone, finishing with one against his lips before pulling away. “All usual rules apply. I would like to... tie you up, other than just your wings, too. And I would like you to see yourself, tied up. We don’t exactly have a full body mirror in your bedroom, but I’ll - I will think of something. I want you to see yourself.” He lets Cas consider that. “Colour?” It’s easier than asking _are you ok with this?_ Considering the both of them have a habit of pretending to be OK. But the stoplights being an entirely different system of asking that help the both of them be honest during scenes.

  


“Green. As long as you won’t take photographs, even ones you’d delete straight off,” Cas replies.

  


“Got it,” Dean nods. “I’ll work with the mirrors we’ve got.”

  


He’s still a bit hesitant about going forward with this; it still feels like one of his _not very great_ ideas – but Cas has very much given it the green light. He needs to trust that, if not himself. And even though it is to primarily aid Cas in unwinding, it isn’t as if Dean doesn’t find the idea of having Cas tied up arousing.

  


He leans in for a slow kiss. Works Castiel’s shoulder muscles gently, slides his touch along his chest and abdomen, towards the edge of his trousers, his belt. “Colour?” he asks quietly, again, an inch away from Cas’s lips. He just needs to make sure.

  


Cas breathes against his lips, whispers, “Green.” Doesn’t complain about Dean treating him like he might break; as Dean had when they first started playing with the idea of dominance and submission. How Castiel ended up being _more experienced_ with a sexual thing than Dean is, is still beyond him.

  


“Good,” Dean replies, going in for another kiss as he works the belt, undresses Cas, waiting for him to step out of his trousers before going for his underwear. Dean cups him with his hand as he slides the garment off, dropping kisses down his abdomen, gaining more confidence at Cas hardening against his palm, even if just slightly, fights his socks off his feet along with the underwear, rendering him completely naked while Dean himself remains fully dressed.

  


It’s _slow_ , most of the time, with Castiel. Sex, for him, Dean’s figured, is more about the build-up than the act. Dean’s learned to appreciate it; the restraint he’s learned from Cas, the prolonged moments of pleasure. Cas has adapted too – giving it to Dean rough and fast when that’s what he needs. Strangely, despite their problems when it comes to being on the same page outside of the bedroom, with sex, they naturally echo to a similar frequency. They communicate better.

  


Castiel trails his lips along Dean’s neck as the latter wraps his fingers around him, gently shifting them along his cock while Cas kisses his neck, rough. Their breaths fall into a similar, heavy rhythm.

  


He uses all of his self-restraint skills to pull away after a while, but the low grunt Cas doesn’t manage to suppress, in protest of him doing that, makes it worth it. His angel’s eyes are dark with dilated pupils as Dean meets them.

  


“Get down on your knees,” Dean says, gaze fixed on Castiel. And it’s a _beautiful_ sight, the tiny break between the command and the obedience, Cas’s defiant character bleeding through before he lets go and falls on his knees in front of Dean, eyes meeting his, unblinking, lips parting slightly. Knowing he wouldn’t do that for anybody else in the world, having _Castiel_ of all the people, willingly lower himself on his knees in front of him as a sign of submission, only adds to the beauty of it.

  


Cas shies away from praise, so Dean simply raises his eyebrows a fraction of an inch, letting his endearment show on his features before he leans to place a kiss on his partner’s forehead. _What did I do to deserve you?_

  


He steps back, walks to Cas’s wardrobe, every step deliberately crafted, because he needs to focus to keep his body language dominant – and he keeps it up, even as he steps out of Cas’s field of vision, on gut instinct. Knows without looking that Cas will be keeping his eyes forward. Dean grabs the black, soft ropes from a cardboard box behind Cas’s shoes, the threads of the ropes individually carved with appropriate warding to make them angel proof.

  


He cocks his head as he turns to look at his angel again, delighting in the fact that he can most likely hear his every move, yet restrains himself from turning to look, doesn’t move a muscle, just _waits_.

  


And the wings. Feathers brushing against his shoulders, the floor. “Hands,” Dean prompts as he steps closer, crouching behind Castiel. “I love you,” he mumbles against the back of his neck as his request is instantly met with obedience. The three words come easier every time, more naturally. Dean starts to wrap one of the ropes around Castiel’s wrists, securing them behind his back, making sure the bindings won’t hurt him. “Colour?”

  


Cas tugs against the rope, his breath heavy again. “Green.” He wriggles his hands, testing if he can break free, and Dean watches him take pleasure in knowing he _can’t_ , his chest rising and falling, the slight hitches at his breath. “I love you, too,” Cas offers, his voice breathy.

  


“Good, ’cause you’re literally stuck with me at the moment,” Dean jokes, mentally slaps himself, and goes to redeem his joke that has his angel snort by working his lips, his tongue, against his nape, down his shoulder.

  


His arm drapes around Castiel’s waist, fingers circling around his cock, and the quiet moan escaping Cas is enough to make Dean shudder as he bites his lip to suppress one of his own. He strokes Cas from base to head, slowly, a few times, before withdrawing his hand again. As an afterthought, he starts wrapping the rope around Cas’s forearms, up towards his elbows, binding them against one another. He hasn’t done bondage exactly like this before on Cas, but Cas has bound him this way more than once – and he’s testing waters to see if he’d like to be on the receiving end of that. “When you do this for me,” Dean mumbles, close to Cas’s ear, “not sure why, but it really gets me. There’s more... submission to it like this, isn’t there?” He trails his fingers down from the bound elbows, to his wrists. “You’re more completely bound than I’ve ever had you.”

  


Cas arches his neck. “I… see why you like it,” he replies, his breath coming as shallow huffs. “Dean...”

  


“Was there a _please_ in there somewhere, because you might’ve said my name, but all I hear is your tone,” Dean teases.

  


“Be silent, and put your mouth into better use, Dean.”

  


“You forget who’s in charge here,” Dean replies with a chuckle but complies to the extent of trailing kisses in between Castiel’s shoulder blades before withdrawing again.

  


He takes a longer length of rope. His eyes observing Cas’s wings, from shoulder blade to tip, trying to decide which direction to go with this. “Cas, you sure that me folding your wings won’t make it feel like… _I’m_ trying to keep them hidden?” he asks, hesitantly.

  


Cas cranes his neck enough to look at him. “Dean,” he says, softly, “you explicitly told me you wanted to... make them beautiful. That is what this feels like, not like you are trying to hide them.”

  


“Just _stop me_ , if...” Dean interrupts himself, shakes his head. “I know you know to do that. All right, trusting you, now.”

  


Strange, how dominating his angel requires so much more trust from Dean than submitting for him does.

  


“You’re doing beautifully,” Cas offers gently as he turns to face forwards again. And, _god_ , they’re slipping, if Cas is _praising him_ on this; Dean gathers himself, just goes for it, suppresses his hesitation.

  


He strokes Cas’s wing with a gentle touch, kisses a feather again, moving up towards the bone structure. His lips brush lightly at first as his hands stroke along towards the ends of the farthest feathers hitting the floor, his caresses slowly easing into something more certain and less cautious as Cas shivers and leans the wing back against Dean’s touch. Slowly, he starts to entwine the long rope among the feathers, weaving it among their maze, before gently bending a joint of the wing to bind the point close enough to the tip and level enough with the shoulder blade to the base, where skin turns feather, folding the wing to rest against Castiel’s back, against his bound arms.

  


“Colour?”

  


Cas, once again, tests the bindings, and Dean watches in awe as the wing strains a little against the rope, the feathers shifting slightly, almost shivering. He tugs at his arms, again, shifts on his knees, before replying, “Green,” and there’s such raw emotion and arousal in his tone Dean nearly loses it. He needs to be free of his clothes, so he rushes to strip off his t-shirt, jeans, boxers, in a matter of seconds, barely stops himself from touching himself.

  


“God, you’re beautiful,” he mutters as he lowers himself on the floor again to grab the remaining long piece of the rope. “Do you have any idea... how hot you make me?”

  


“Mutual,” Cas breathes.

  


Dean repeats what he’s done with the first wing to the still free one. Slowly, slowly lays caresses on the structure, lips brushing against feathers, before starting to drape the rope among them. He has never been very artistic, but even as he wants to move along and _really_ touch Cas, here and now, he wants to do this as carefully as he can, too. Wants to do this for Cas. So he takes his time, before finally moving back to admire the sight in front of him.

  


The both of his angel’s wings, deep black glimmering with hints of coloured light he doesn’t understand the source of, soft yet firm feathers woven with the rope, black against black, folded so that they can be visible, proud; beautifully wrapped in ropes, resting against Castiel’s arms, his back.

  


And he doesn’t hold any illusions of making Cas love his wings, or even like them; but maybe for a tiny second, he can at least... see them as Dean sees them – as an utterly beautiful aspect of him.

  


“Get on your feet,” Dean tells him gently, holding him by his arms to help him up. “Going to let you see them, now.”

  


Cas lets him guide himself so that he’s standing with his back towards the mirror hanging on the wall. “Hang on,” Dean mumbles, retrieves the one inside the wardrobe.

  


He holds it as he steps in front of Cas, bites his lips as he tries to find a good angle. “Can you see?” From Castiel’s point of view, he should be able to see the reflection of his back – of his wings –  reflected behind him.

  


Cas licks his lips as he looks, tilts his head and shifts on his feet before nodding.

  


“Look at you,” Dean mumbles, “you are absolutely beautiful.” His own eyes escape to see the reflection of Cas’s wings.

  


“Dean,” Cas offers after a silent moment or two. “Yellow.”

  


Dean nearly drops the mirror he’s holding, he’s in such a rush to set it off his hands. “Hey, too much? What do you need?” he asks, in panic, as he moves to cup Castiel’s face in his hands. “You need me to get you out?”

  


“No,” Cas says, closing his eyes for a second. “No, just... looking at my wings.” He pauses. Breathes in deeply. “You’ve made them... Dean, I can honestly see them as more than simply broken,” he says gently, offers a soft smile. “Thank you. I just... it’s too much. Looking at them for so long. Everything else is OK. I’m OK.”

  


Dean heaves a long sigh, runs his hands down Cas’s chest. “OK. Enough with the mirrors,” he says. “Colour on the ropes? And... everything?”

  


“Green,” Castiel replies. “Just... I want _you_ ,” he offers. Blues meeting greens. “Enough about me. I want you to feel good, too. I want...” He trails off as Dean quirks a brow. “Go ahead and smirk, you asshole, I can _see_ you want to,” he laughs, out of breath. Shakes his head. “I want you to touch me. I want you inside me.”

  


Dean _might’ve_ been wanting to smirk at the almost-begging a second ago, but the tone Cas delivers those lines with is so intense, so far from a plea, yet not a command either...

  


He swallows hard, faltering for a while under Cas’s gaze. What he had in mind was a handjob or something. But he isn’t going to say no to this, either. No. Definitely not.

  


Change of plans.

  


Dean pulls Castiel closer, gripping at his hair as he kisses him eagerly. Cas shifts under his touch, grumbles lowly into the kiss, almost in a whine as their hips collide. “I want to touch you,” he complains as they break apart to draw in air. Dean just grins.

  


“That’s not gonna happen anytime soon, I’m afraid,” he teases, the power rush taking over him again. “I _am_ going to untie you but only for a minute. Be good.”

  


He circles around Cas to tug the knots holding his arms loose, rubbing at his muscles while he unwraps them, and brings his hands in front of him with a single wrist still tied. Then works simple loops around the both his wrists to tie his hands in front of him. Playfully pushes him towards the bed. Helps him settle onto it before lifting his wrists at the headboard by the rope. “Colour?” he asks, meeting his eyes.

  


“Green.”

  


Dean nods, aware of Castiel watching him as he secures his wrists to the headboard. He lets his eyes drift along Cas’s body after he’s done, waiting for just long enough for his angel to start shifting impatiently before smiling to himself and climbing on top of him on the bed, straddling him. Hands rest onto Cas’s chest, toying with his nipples, drinking in the desire in his eyes.

  


Just to see what happens, Dean leans down, as if to kiss his lips, only to stop inches above them. Cas doesn’t disappoint – he lifts his head, letting out a quiet whimper at not quite reaching Dean’s. “Now you’re just deliberately being an asshole.”

  


“I am not even going to deny that,” Dean grins as a reply. He stops torturing his angel, though – leans down to really kiss him, now, slow and deep and tender.

  


A few more, shorter kisses, lips against lips, tongue against tongue, before he trails his tongue down Castiel’s chin, neck, stopping to suck onto his collarbone, which is rewarded by a shaky moan, and, OK, he’s done with his self-restraint now, thanks; Dean’s kisses turn more needy, sloppy, rough, his hands stroking Cas’s sides, fingernails trailing lightly along them at times, moving down towards abdomen with his lips, thighs with his fingers.

  


He lowers himself enough to lay a couple of kisses under Castiel’s knees, knowing the thin layers of skin to be sensitive spots. And the sounds his angel is making have him _shiver all over_ ; quiet, as always, yet still full of desire and need. Low moans, sharp gasps of air. They are both hard, Dean’s cock leaking pre-come without even having been touched. He awkwardly fumbles for the bedside table as he moves up along Cas’s body again, swearing under his breath before he manages to yank the drawer open.

  


“Colour?” he breathes, barely getting the prompt worded as he straddles Castiel properly once again, fumbling the bottle of lube open.

  


Cas seems to be having nearly as much trouble getting his words out, his eyes half shut as he gazes at Dean. “ _Green_.”

  


Another kiss is exchanged before Dean moves to prep Cas, guiding his legs into a better position before circling his hole with a lubed finger. “Relax for me,” he mumbles, out of breath, pushing inside. “There we go...” Cas is being reduced more and more into a writhing mess under Dean, with each finger he adds. And his reactions are doing _things_ to Dean, but he keeps the remainders of his cool, holding Cas still as much as he manages while prepping him.

  


“You ready?” he asks, breathless, curling his fingers inside Cas before withdrawing them to lube his cock.

  


Cas moans lowly, lifts his hips up.

  


“Words, Cas,” Dean prompts, a smile playing on his lips as he takes a second to watch his partner. He’s so gorgeous, eyes still half shut, tugging at the rope binding him.

  


“ _Yes_ , Dean,” he replies, his voice higher-pitched than it usually is.

  


His consent is all Dean needs – he hisses quietly as he touches his cock to lubricate it, breath stopping for a while as he angles himself against Cas’s hole, holding his partner’s legs from under his knees to support their position. He lets out a louder hiss as starts to push in, but his sounds are being drowned by Cas moaning. Slowly easing himself inside, Dean shudders, stops for a moment to just _feel_ Cas around him, before starting to move.

  


He’s been holding back for so long it’s sloppy at first, it takes them time to fall into the same rhythm, but once they do, it’s bliss.

  


Dean feels as if he was melting into Castiel, slowly thrusts in and out, and if the moans Cas is releasing mean anything, the feeling is mutual. Dean instinctively hovers a hand over Cas, but stops his movement before touching his cock – just... not to tease, not really; but just to _see_ what happens. “Cas,” he mumbles. “I want you to come whenever you’re ready to.” His voice laced with his own desire. “God, you feel so _good_ ,” he moans. “If you need me to touch you, tell... me... but if...” He’s too close himself to keep talking.

  


But it’s still Cas, reaching his peak first, with an inaudible moan Dean sees through his half-open eyes, and the shudders moving through his body, muscles tightening around Dean, the look on his face, all of it is enough to drive Dean into his own orgasm.

  


He grips at Cas’s hip roughly as he cries out with a low voice, coming inside Castiel, shaking, shivers running up his spine as he tenses up, then slowly, slowly releases every single knot his muscles were in. His breathing slows and he stays still a while before pulling himself out of Castiel.

  


His head is so cloudy it takes him a second to find himself again, to remember his position.

  


“Hey,” he mumbles with a low voice at Cas, as he moves to untie him, fumbling with the knots. “Good?”

  


“Good,” Cas says, breathlessly, opening his eyes as Dean groans at the bindings before finally managing to loosen them and set Castiel’s wrists free.

  


“I’ll clean you up in a second,” he promises, placing a gentle kiss onto Cas’s forehead as he massages his arms. “God, that was good. Tell me when you’re ready to sit up or something so I can untie your wings.” He shifts to kiss Cas on his lips. “You are so good for me...”

  


“And you are in a sex haze,” Cas points out with a low chuckle. “If you are going to clean us up, you are _not_ doing it with a shirt again. And my wings...” He pauses. “Let my wings stay like this, for now, I don’t mind.”

 

Dean takes that as a good sign.

 

“Excuse you,” he says as he opens his eyes to look at Cas, “I’ll do what I please with my own clothes.” He is _not_ getting up to fetch paper towels. Nope. Not when his t-shirt is conveniently reachable without him needing to get up from the bed.

  


Cas thankfully stops arguing, just lets Dean use the shirt to wipe them both clean enough so that they can take a while snuggling without making more of a mess. “Need water? Anything?” Because he’d get up for that, Castiel not actually requiring drinks, like, ever, irrelevant right now.

 

“No,” Cas mutters, “just want to hold you.”

  


Dean pulls the covers over them, resting his face against the crook of Cas’s neck; the latter draping his arm around Dean’s waist.

  


“Thank you for this,” Cas says softly. “I mean it, Dean – I needed it, and I didn’t... I wouldn’t have thought about it on my own.”

  


“Anytime, Cas.” Dean strokes Cas’s cheek with his fingers. “If it made you feel any... better, then I’m glad. If not, at least... no complaints about some hot sex?”

  


Cas laughs. “It made at least today better,” he says, after a moment. “So that’s a win.”

  


Dean hums against his neck. It is a win, in his books, too – he doubts Cas will ever again take pride in his wings, doubts that either of them can ever permanently fix one another’s broken parts. But moments like these – they’re _good enough_. And the lack of an overall peaceful and happy life doesn’t make them any less important. Not for Dean, and if he knows Cas at all, not for him, either.


End file.
